


Not your pretty woman

by IronicallyKinky



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Daddy Kink, Dark Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/M, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is a Mess, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Size Queen, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mafia AU, Mafia Boss Geralt, Multi, Overprotective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Professional Dom Yennefer, Prostitution, Public Blow Jobs, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, everyone is bisexual and I think that's very fun and sexy of them, so many blow jobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronicallyKinky/pseuds/IronicallyKinky
Summary: Jaskier is eighteen, musician, and homeless. He does what he needs. Geralt is rich and powerful and gets what he wants. Surely between the two of them they can have a little fun.Or, How Jaskier Died And Went To HeavenBeta'd by the ever delightful Prince, ily king xx
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 46
Kudos: 210





	1. The things you do for a hot shower

Sleeping rough really isn’t so bad, all things considered. No one yells at him for sleeping late. He goes where he pleases, when he pleases. The people are… well, he keeps to himself, but that’s fine. Really. In the afternoon he plays his dented guitar and people drop coins into his case. In the evening… he makes much more than a few coins and the occasional crumpled fiver, and that’s what matters. 

It’s one such evening, the cold is bitter, and if he can get a fifty he can buy a sandwich and sit in the diner until the owner kicks him out. He’s talking to a man without even seeing his face in the dark, but it doesn’t matter what he looks like. 

“Evening, sir.” Jaskier puts on his best ‘innocent twink’ face, difficult around his bruised eye and busted lip, but he probably should have seen the swastika before the man could beat him for being a fag. 

“Looking for a little fun? Make you feel good.” He drops his voice. “Twenty quid a pop, or for fifty you can skip the condom. How ’bout it?”

“Come here.” The stranger has a gruff voice, and even if it wasn’t work that voice would get Jaskier going. He steps into the light and flinches as it hurts his damaged eye. The man sniffs and lifts Jaskier’s chin, turning him this way and that. Then, he steps into the light, and  _ oh, fuck _ . He could be a model, with long silver hair tied back in a bun and the sort of face that looks unrealistic on Superman. Jaskier’s mouth drops open, even though it tugs the cut on his mouth. 

“Do you think I’m the sort of guy who gets his cock sucked in an alleyway cause some twink needs another hit?” The insult stings, and Jaskier snaps his mouth shut, but doesn’t step back. 

“Dunno sir. Bet you’ve never had your cock sucked like I can do it.”

That makes the stranger huff, and he glances down the street. 

“Alright. But not in an alley. I wasn’t kidding about that.” The stranger releases his chin and tucks his hands into his pockets, cocking an eyebrow. Jaskier nods enthusiastically. 

“I’m on my way to the hotel around the block anyway.” Jaskier knows it well. A huge thing, all chrome and marble in the foyer. The sort of place Jaskier would kill to get a night in, just to relieve his aching bones. 

“Uh, I have… can I bring my guitar? Don’t want it to get stolen, you know?” He bites his lip. He’s in no position to be making requests, but the guitar supplements him enough that he can get by only doing blowjobs. He doesn’t want to lose that. 

The man considers, then nods, and without another word continues on his way. Jaskier hesitates just a moment, then picks up the case and runs after the beautiful stranger, still amazed at his own luck. 

The rooms are how Jaskier imagined. Black, silver, sleek angles. He looks around, feeling a little self conscious, and thinks longingly of the no doubt phenomenal shower. Maybe later. He puts down his guitar case and steps back, watching the stranger carefully. The man is a good foot taller than him, and though Jaskier isn’t a child - he’s 18, for god’s sake - he feels very out of his depth here. The man goes to the bed and sits, raising a brow at Jaskier, who then rushes to kneel between his spread legs. The man clears his throat and Jaskier pauses with his hands on the belt. 

“200 if you do it naked.” 

Jaskier doesn’t hesitate. For two hundred pounds he could skip tomorrow night, give his lip some time to heal. He tosses aside his shirt, showing off the thick hair that coats his slender chest. He’s very proud of it. His jeans go next, and his underwear that he scrambles to pay to wash every few days. (He’s not a _total_ animal.)

He watches for the strangers approval, which comes in the way of a sly smirk, and settles back between the man’s knees. Jaskier makes quick work of his belt, slacks, and - Christ -  _ satin _ boxers. Then, he almost has a heart attack. 

The cock he pulls out is quite possibly the biggest thing he’s ever seen. It must be at  _ least  _ ten inches, and Jaskier’s hand can only barely go all the way around it. He glances up, swallows, and opens his mouth, immediately taking in as much as he can before he starts to gag. He glances down, and his stomach drops as he realises he’s only barely more than half way down, and his lip has broken again.  _ Well _ , Julian Alfred Pankratz is many things, but he is not a quitter. He steels his nerves and gives it his absolute best effort, hands working what he can’t reach, drool running down his chin and the massive length. It’s actually sort of impressive. Jaskier looks up, eyes watering, and is pleased to see the man has his eyes closed and looks to be enjoying himself immensely. A giant hand tangles in his hair and he continues with renewed enthusiasm, taking even more until he gags, until he can’t breathe. In fairness, a cock like this might actually be worth dying for. 

The fingers tighten in his hair, and it’s the only warning before cum coats his throat and mouth, hot and thick. Jaskier swallows desperately, for a minute wondering just how much cum a human can possibly produce before he’s dragged off the cock. He sits back and wipes around his mouth, though it doesn’t do much. The stranger fixes him with an odd look. 

“You sleep rough?”

“Y-yes sir.” No one ever gives a shit about him, but he’s not about to rebuke the generous man. 

“Hm.” Tucking himself back into his pants and fixing his trousers, the man looks Jaskier up and down. “I have a meeting to get to, in the bar. Wait up here until I get back. Have a shower.” 

Honestly, Jaskier would have stayed anyway, but the promise of a hot shower and fluffy towels sells him. He jumps to his feet, cock jumping with him. The man stands and touches his arm lightly. 

“My name is Geralt. And yours?”

“Jaskier. Thank you, sir. Geralt.” Geralt smiles and leaves him there, naked and aching, and the door is barely shut before Jaskier helps himself to every fancy toiletry he can find. 

********

It takes over an hour before Geralt returns, but the water is still running. He smirks and opens the bathroom door, watching Jaskier for a minute as he stands under the water. He knocks, which makes the boy jump and shut off the water quickly. 

“I’m sorry sir, it’s just, it’s been a while, and I - ” Geralt stops him with a raised hand. 

“I don’t mind. Come here.” Jaskier steps out of the shower, and takes a towel to pat himself dry. Geralt pulls him close and tosses the towel away, running his hands over Jaskier’s slim figure. The boy shivers under his touch. 

“How would you like another thousand?” Jaskier’s mouth falls open, unsure he can do whatever it takes for a  _ thousand _ . Dumbly, he nods. 

“You ever been fucked?” 

Jaskier, as it happens, has not. He’s fingered himself, but never managed anything bigger. Still, a thousand pounds will give him a good week to get over it. 

“Yes sir. All the time. Uh, for a thousand you’ll need a condom, though.” 

Geralt smirks. “I was planning on it. On your knees, then.”

Jaskier has told some stupid lies in his time, but this might be the worst. His face is pressed to the bed, Geralt has one  _ giant _ finger inside him, and he feels like he’s about to pass out. Geralt gives him a sharp slap on his arse and Jaskier’s cock twitches happily. This doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Like that, do you, whore?”

“Yes sir. But, uh, please don’t mark me.” Jaskier shoots a worried look over his shoulder, and Geralt nods. All at once a second finger is inside him, and he drops again with a high pitched moan. 

Geralt laughs. He isn’t stupid, could tell Jaskier was a virgin from the first finger, but it’s so funny to watch him try and power through it. 

By the time Geralt withdraws his three fingers, Jaskier’s cock  _ hurts.  _ He’s leaking precum steadily onto the fancy linen, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Spreading the boy’s hole, Geralt rolls a condom on. He undressed a while ago, though he doesn’t think Jaskier noticed, too preoccupied with staying upright. The head of Geralt’s cock forces Jaskier open, and the boy gives the sweetest little whine. He goes slower than usual, he doesn’t want to break his new favourite toy just yet, despite how he desperately wants to slam in and rip screams from the boy’s throat. Instead, he lands a hard spank on Jaskier’s plump arse, then strokes his back like a skittish stray. When Geralt finally bottoms out Jaskier is sobbing, though with pain or pleasure he isn’t certain. He thrusts slowly, watching how the boy stretches with each movement, and reaches under to stroke his cock. This proves a mistake. It takes Jaskier about three strokes before he cums with a yell and a sob. Geralt swears and moves faster, trying to get it over with for the poor virgin’s sake. It can’t be more than three minutes before he cums, deep inside Jaskier despite the condom, and he holds it as he pulls out and drops beside Jaskier, checking his face. 

Jaskier has never been so happy in his life. He drops like a stone on his side and looks up at Geralt like he’s having a religious experience. 

“Thank you.” He knows he sounds stupid, considering Geralt is the one paying him, but he can’t help it. 

Geralt laughs. “So, how was it? Not a bad first time?” The colour drains from Jaskier’s face and he stammers, trying to come up with an excuse, but Geralt shakes his head. 

“It’s fine. I could tell straight away. Doesn’t worry me, but I won’t be using a condom in future.”

“In the future?” Jaskier stares. He was happy enough with twelve hundred and one time with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, but Geralt wants to have him  _ again _ ? He covers his confusion with humor. “Is this some sort of pretty woman thing? Cause I’m not really gala ready.” Jaskier gestures to his eye with a shrug and Geralt shakes his head. 

“Not quite. I figured that you might prefer if, instead of paying you in cash, you come home with me. Free rent, food, clothes. All you do is be available.” The implication is clear. Jaskier sits up a bit, squinting as he waits for the man to say he’s joking and laugh in his face. Geralt’s expression remains calm, stony. “Let’s say I say yes, then what?”

“Then, first of all, we’d get you tested. You’d come back to mine, live with me. Kind of like a pet. I have to assume you don’t have any family that’ll miss you or anything like that?” 

That makes Jaskier laugh bitterly as he rolls onto his back. “No, no one that’ll miss me. They couldn’t stand the idea of a little queer in the family.” 

Geralt grins. “Good. Well, we can stay here tonight, since I don’t know if you can walk at the moment.” 

Jaskier hums his agreement, and closes his eyes. He is  _ exhausted _ . 

“By the way,” Geralt’s voice barely cuts through, “I have a spa bath.”

  
  



	2. Day two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So begins the rest of Jaskier's life, but first, they have a few things to get squared away.

For about five minutes, Jaskier is convinced the previous night was one big, beautiful dream.

The ache deep in his arse reminds him otherwise.

He opens his eyes to the light, finding the space beside him empty. Wait. Not totally empty.

On the pillow is a folded note, his name written on it in a smooth scrawl. Sitting up, Jaskier takes the note and opens it. Inside is nothing but a mobile number and he squeals like a child on his birthday. 

He turns toward the side table to see the clock telling him that it’s 11:30 in the morning - no wonder he’s alone. A man like Geralt probably has a big important job to get to. Well, there’s no time frame on the card, so he might as well try now. Jaskier picks up the phone on the side table and dials the number. 

“Hello?” He’s so grateful to hear Geralt’s gruff timbre on the other end. 

“Geralt! Hi, it’s me. Jaskier. Hi.”

“Morning.” The laugh was evident in the man’s voice. 

“Yeah, ha, sorry, this bed is just… much softer than the concrete, you know?”

“I can imagine. Did you leave anything there?” Jaskier thinks of his little spot - a worn, stained duvet and not much else. His guitar is the only thing he cares about, and, besides, the other boys probably assumed him murdered and took his things already.

“No. No, I don’t have anything else. Just the guitar.”

“Good. How long will you need to get ready?”

“Oh! Oh, right, yes. Um, an hour?”

“Alright. I’ll see you in an hour. Meet me in the lobby.” 

“Right, yes, thank you. Again. Really, thank you, Geralt.”

“See you soon.” 

Just as quickly as he answered, Geralt hangs up. Jaskier shakes his head, wonders idly if all fancy business men are this abrupt, and climbs out of bed. Wincing slightly, he looks over his shoulder as he spreads his arse. Despite how he feels, there’s no sign of last night, so that’s something. Jaskier heads into the bathroom, insistent on one more shower before he leaves, though this one is significantly shorter. He redresses in the same clothes he wore the night before, fixes his hair as best he can, and checks the time. With nothing better to do Jaskier wanders downstairs and sits in the lobby. 

The concierge staff look down their nose at him, like everyone else, so it doesn’t bother him much. He turns his attention instead to his guitar, picking idly at the strings. The minutes seem to crawl by as he keeps glancing at the big clock on the wall. It’s just after 12:30 that Jaskier looks around and sees the familiar silver hair. The man is possibly more beautiful in the middle of the day, his hair done up in a slick ponytail, and it’s all Jaskier can do not to run to him like an excited pup. 

“Afternoon, Jask. How are you feeling?”

“Good. So good.” Jaskier flushes and bites his lip.    
“Good. I was worried I hurt you, but I wanted to let you sleep. Come on. I have an appointment for you.” Geralt nods towards the door and Jaskier follows him out of the hotel. He hesitates when Geralt opens the back door of an expensive black car waiting out front, suddenly hyper aware of how dirty his clothes are. Geralt raises an eyebrow, and nods again, towards the backseat. Jaskier sighs and does as indicated, climbing into the car.

The inside of the car is just as lux - soft leather seats, a tinted divider between the back and the front, and two chilled bottles of water in the centre by their feet. Jaskier can’t help but imagine this is what it’s like to be famous. Geralt joins him, knocks on the divider, then settles back in his seat, opening his phone as he does. 

“We’re going to get you tested. It won’t take long. I’d just like to be able to safely claim what I own.” He smirks, and Jaskier flushes. 

_ Owned. _

He isn’t so sure about that, though his stomach is doing cartwheels that make his cock twitch. Instead, he nods silently. Geralt seems happy with this, so he turns back to his phone and they sit in silence the rest of the ride, while Jaskier has a million questions bouncing around his skull. 

  
  


********

  
  


The clinic is  _ white _ . It looks like something out of a movie set in the distant future; but, in fairness, Jaskier can’t remember the last time he went to an actual doctor. His parents might have had the grace not to kick him out until he turned 18, but they stopped giving a shit as soon as they realised what he was. 

Geralt’s hand on the back of his neck is comforting as they bypass the waiting room and go straight into an equally white examination room. Gentle fingers lift Jaskier’s chin as Geralt offers him a reassuring smile.   
“I’ll be right outside,” is all he says, before Jaskier is left alone on the bed.

The doctor who enters is a pretty blonde woman, and she gives him the smile all doctors seem to have before setting her clipboard on the desk. 

“Geralt didn’t have many details about you, so we’ll have to set you up as a new client I’m afraid.” She faces her computer. Her voice is smooth and comforting, the kind you’d hear in a lift, or from a smartphone.   
“Full name?”   
“Julian Alfred Pankratz.” It feels bitter, but she doesn’t seem to notice.   
“Date of birth?”   
“August 20, 2002.”   
“Sexually active?”   
He doesn’t laugh.“Yes.”   
“Method of birth control?”   
“Uh…” He bites his lip. “Uh, I’ve only ever… with men. So, none?” 

She turns to face him with a grin. “Just filling in the form, love, no worries. And are you on any medications?”   
“No. No, not currently.” Jaskier had been on antidepressants for several years, but it became an unnecessary expense when food became his priority. 

Satisfied, the doctor stands, and pulls on a pair of latex gloves. “Alright, Julian, undress for me, please, and we’ll get started.”

Undressing in front of this woman doesn’t bother him. Even the clinical way she feels his balls doesn’t worry him. It’s nothing he hasn’t managed before. She glances up at his face as she shifts her fingers back, and he gasps, despite himself but it doesn’t seem to worry her.   
“Alright, love. Face the bench and bend over for me, nice and easy, that’s it. This might be a little cold.” The touch of her lubed finger does make him jump, but she tuts gently as she forces it in.   
“Deep breaths, that’s it.” Jaskier does as instructed, and it helps, surprisingly, as she feels around inside him. He chokes out a half moan when she finds and presses against his prostate, but the sensation only lasts for a minute. Embarrassingly, a minute is all he seems to need for his cock to show interest. If she notices she doesn’t comment.    
“Gonna take a few swabs now, be over before you know it.” He nods, and he does barely feel the swabs. She taps him on the hip.    
“There we are, done there. Now, one more thing.” She holds out a small jar with a yellow lid. “Bathroom’s right across the hall.”

Twenty minutes later Jaskier finds Geralt in the waiting room. He feels a little odd, but in a nice way. It feels like someone actually gives a shit about him, like now there’d be some sort of record if he dropped off the earth. 

Geralt stands and sets his hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck again, gently guiding him out to the car. Once they settle in, the man turns to him to speak.    
“She’ll have your results by tomorrow. I’ve had them rushed.” Geralt smiles knowingly. “How was it?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Normal. She, uh, she fingered me. I dunno, weird.” He laughs lightly and Geralt pats his knee.    
“She was checking your prostate. It’s fine. She’s very professional. An old friend of mine.” He looks Jaskier up and down, and then, seemingly reading his mind, “You got hard from it, didn’t you?”

Jaskier flushes and looks down, shyly nodding. Geralt pats his knee again.    
“It’s fine. Normal. Why don’t you take care of it for me?” 

Jaskier looks up, a little shocked, but Geralt’s gaze is serious. Without really thinking about it, he undoes his jeans and pulls out his cock, already growing hard - again - under Geralt’s watch. The man touches his hand before he can start.   
“Not like that. Just your two fingers, like this.” He reaches over and takes Jaskier’s cock between his thumb and forefinger, like he's a toy that might break. The image makes his cock jump despite himself, and Jaskier obeys, feeling rather juvenile. Geralt watches him with his intense gaze, and seems to sense his nerves, since he nods at the divider. 

“Totally soundproof. And my drivers are very discreet.” The way he says it implies that Jaskier is far from the first, and the thought sends an odd sort of pang through him. Realistically, they only met yesterday, and Geralt is  _ beautiful _ , so of course Jaskier wasn’t his first last night. Still, he doesn’t want to think about it, he just wants to be so good that Geralt will never think to fuck anyone else. 

He bites his lip and moves his fingers faster, punctuating the movements with high pitched whimpers that makes Geralt’s cock twitch, and after a moment the man pats his own leg. 

“Come sit on my lap, Jask.” Jaskier doesn’t hesitate to obey, and straddles his broad thighs. 

“Keep going. Mind not to get anything on my suit.” It’s the casual command in his voice, the way he doesn’t need to raise his voice to be heard, to be  _ obeyed _ . It’s the way he carries himself that makes people want to look away out of respect. 

Jaskier resumes his stroking, noises growing louder, higher pitched, until he pauses, hands shaking. 

“Please, please may I cum, sir?” He whines, and Geralt smirks. 

“You may. Nothing on my suit.”

He nods and covers the head of his cock with his hand, and it’s just a moment before Jaskier’s lurching forward, crying out as he spills. He catches most of it, only the smallest drop leaking from his palm, and Geralt nods. 

“Eat it.” With shuddering breaths he obeys, lapping at his hand like a kitten, and he’s tasted his own cum before but it’s never been this arousing, or possibly humiliating. Geralt smiles, glances down, and notices the spilled drops with a raised eyebrow. 

“You spilled on my suit, pet.” He tuts, and Jaskier shivers. “Not to worry. We’ll take care of it.”

The words themselves are innocuous, but they sound terribly like a threat, so Jaskier tucks himself away and looks demurely downwards. Something about Geralt encourages these little acts of subservience. 

Despite himself, he shivers. 

  
  
  


  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter begins the daddy kink. I warned y'all.


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bathroom is much bigger than Jaskier’s room at his parents, and against the window, as promised, sits a bath the size of the average hot tub with the jets to match.   
> Jaskier squeals. 
> 
> So begins the rest of their lives.

The brass plate on the gatepost advertises the house as being called Kaer Morhen.  _ Well, it certainly sounds intimidating. _

The gates swing inwards to allow the car through and Jaskier can’t keep the awe off his face. They’re only in the front courtyard and already it is the fanciest place he had ever seen. Just outside the city, with a rolling lawn, fountain and - he turns to look at the house itself - a veritable  _ mansion _ . 

Jaskier turns to Geralt, who smiles and simply nods, opening his door. Jaskier climbs off his lap, glances back, then runs up the front stairs. 

“Do you have a butler?” He shouts down to Geralt. Only the important things. 

Geralt rolls his eyes in a good natured way, takes the guitar case from the driver, and goes up to meet Jaskier at the door. “No.” He touches the boy’s arm in a comforting way and unlocks the front door. 

The interior is just as grand as the exterior, all white and gold like a film set. Jaskier is a little overwhelmed by the whole thing, but he covers it well, turning back to Geralt for guidance. The man smiles and places his hand on Jaskier’s nape, and, honestly, it already soothes him. He’s guided upstairs, on the way up glimpsing a serious looking room with a table that must seat at least twenty. He’ll have a proper exploration later, if this is his new house. God.

For now, Geralt steers him down the hall to the left of the staircase and into the first set of double doors they come across. The sight of the room makes Jaskier fairly sure he’s dreaming. Inside is the largest bed he’s ever seen and through the open glass doors is a balcony overlooking the pool. If the previous night was a bitter winter, today is a picturesque spring afternoon that promises summer on a delicately scented breeze. It’s pleasantly warm, and Geralt watches Jaskier with mild amusement at his incredulity. 

“This way.” He offers lightly, and jerks his head towards the door in the opposite wall that Jaskier hadn’t even noticed. The boy looks between him and the door and enters, and gasps. The bathroom is much bigger than Jaskier’s room at his parents, and against the window, as promised, sits a bath the size of the average hot tub with the jets to match. 

Jaskier  _ squeals.  _

“I have a meeting tonight.” Jaskier opens one eye and turns off the jets so he can hear Geralt properly. 

“Hm?”

“I said, I have a meeting tonight. Downstairs, so I won’t be far. You can go anywhere in the house.”

“Except for the basement, right?” Jaskier teases. 

“Yes, that’s where I keep the heads of my previous live-in fucks.” Geralt agrees seriously, but smirks at Jaskier. “I don’t have a basement.”

“Can I stay in here?” 

Geralt grins and presses a soft kiss to his damp hair. “Of course. You just come get me if you need anything. Daddy’s gonna be right downstairs.”

Beneath the water, Jaskier’s cock jumps. 

Jaskier sits in the bath until the water cools and his fingers are well and truly shriveled, then climbs out and takes one of the thick towels from the rail. He pulls it tight around himself and wanders back into the bedroom. Outside, dusk has settled across the grounds, and Jaskier smiles slightly, before going to rifle through Geralt’s wardrobe. 

Deep inside, he finds a satin robe that probably only reaches Geralt’s knees but almost touches the floor on him. With nothing else to wear for the time being, he ties it around his waist and leaves the room. 

The top floor isn’t too interesting, a study with a lot of locked filing cabinets, a smaller bathroom, a few guest rooms and one locked door that he doesn’t push. He’s only 90% sure Geralt was joking about the bodies of his previous fucks, and the last thing he needs is to join them. Instead he wanders down the stairs and finds the kitchen. It’s as impressive as the rest of the house, but Jaskier never learned to cook, so he finds a packet of biscuits in the pantry and helps himself to those instead. 

When he’s full he moves on, finding a lounge with giant leather couches, what looks to be a home theatre, and then the room with the table, though the door is now shut and he can hear muffled voices through it. He hesitates, one hand on the handle, and finds it isn’t locked. The door creaks a bit as it cracks open, and Jaskier flushes. 

Inside the room, Geralt sits at the head of the table, and he grins when he sees Jaskier’s face appear at the door. He lifts a hand to the man talking rapidly at his side, and as if by magic the man shuts his mouth. 

“Come in here.” Geralt says calmly, and Jaskier’s mouth goes dry as the men around the table turn to stare at him. He can’t very well make his escape now, so he swallows and steps inside, shutting the door behind him. 

“I- I was just having a look around, s- Geralt.” He stands by the door, until Geralt shifts back from the table and pats his knee. 

“That’s alright, Jask. Come here, sit on my lap.” Jaskier keeps his eyes forward as he goes to Geralt, and perches delicately on his knee. 

“Daddy told you he had a meeting, yeah?” Geralt prompts, but there’s no threat, so Jaskier nods. 

“Yes- yes, Daddy.” He flushes. “I just didn’t realise.” Geralt waves a hand and pulls him close, and shifts back to the desk. 

“Can you sit quietly while Daddy finishes up here?” Jaskier nods quickly. “Good boy. Mousesack, go on.” He turns to the man beside him that he had interrupted, and rests his hand on Jaskier’s arse, while the boy does his utmost not to listen. 

It only takes another hour for the meeting to finish, and the men around the table ignore Jaskier as they file out. 

Jaskier turns to Geralt, lip between his teeth. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he starts, but Geralt stops him before he can say anything else. 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind showing off my toy to my colleagues.” He squeezes Jaskier’s arse. “However, that does remind me. In the car, I told you not to spill on my suit.” Jaskier recalls, and the tips of his ears go red as he looks down, and his eyes find the little white spot, unnoticeable, but certainly there. He swallows. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Geralt seems pleased with the title, at least. 

“I know, but naughty boys have to have consequences. Take that robe off.” 

Jaskier obeys, standing and discarding it on the floor. He’s naked underneath, and Geralt’s threatening tone has his cock hanging half hard between his thighs. 

“Good. Now, lean over the table for me.” If Jaskier was already red, he’s neon now, but he obeys, turning to face the table and lowering his chest, presenting himself to Geralt. It feels rather like the clinic. He hears Geralt behind him, but isn’t sure what’s happening until he hears a slap, and a heat blooms across his arse. Jaskier yelps, and jerks forward, but Geralt’s hand on his back stops him. 

“Don’t move, Jask. Naughty boys have to take their punishment before they get a reward.” That alone brings Jaskier to full and painful hardness. Geralt smacks him again, this time on the other side, and Jaskier arches back, much to his pleasant surprise. The spanking finishes with another three smacks that leave Jaskier keening against the table, and Geralt steps back. He sits in his chair and moves forward, spreading Jaskier’s arse. 

“Stay down.” And it’s all the warning Jaskier gets before Geralt buries his face in Jaskier’s arse. 

After fifteen minutes, Jaskier is sobbing. His cock feels so hot it might fall off, it’s drooling precum, and tears are running down his face. He’s never been so happy in all his life. Another minute and Geralt pulls back and licks his lips.    
“Are you ready to cum, baby?” He asks, and Jaskier nods desperately. Geralt tsks, “I didn’t hear that.”   
“P-plea-ease, Daddy.”

“Please what?”   
“Please, may I-I cum, Daddy?” Geralt smirks, wrapping his hand around Jaskier’s cock.

“Cum.” His face goes back to Jaskier’s arse, but it’s not necessary. Between the command and the hand on his cock, Jaskier is cumming as soon as he’s given the go ahead. He clings desperately to the table, hips rocking into Geralt’s fist, and he’s absolutely going to die, his guts are going to fall out and he’s going to die right now in total bliss.

When he becomes aware of himself again, it’s firstly because of how stiff his chest feels. Second, it’s because he senses - somehow - the lack of Geralt’s presence behind him. He pushes himself up with a soft groan, and glances around. Geralt reappears through the back entrance that connects, he sees briefly, to the kitchen; likely some sort of staff door. Geralt has a roll of towel in his hand, and he tuts at Jaskier gently before dropping to wipe up the spend pooled beneath him. Jaskier flushes.   
“Sorry, daddy.” He mumbles, but Geralt smiles at him. 

“Not to worry. Come on, are you hungry?” Now that it’s been mentioned, Jaskier realises he’s famished. The packet of biscuits was the most he’d eaten in three days, and it’s not exactly sustainable. Jaskier pushes himself to shaky legs and picks up the robe on the floor. Geralt hums.   
“We’ll go and get you some more clothes tomorrow, alright?” Geralt offers, and that same comforting hand on his neck makes Jaskier smile.   
“Thank you, daddy. Can I have an egg sandwich?” It feels slightly stupid, given the state of things, but it was all Jaskier could cook when he was at home, and he recalls nothing about it but the warm feeling in his gut. 

Geralt laughs, but it isn’t cruel. “Sure, baby. One fried egg sandwich, coming up.”   
  
It just so happens that Geralt is, apparently, an amazing cook. Perfectly fried egg in butter, sliced cheese melted into the muffins as he toasts them, and just a dash of tabasco sauce. It’s quite possibly the best thing Jaskier has ever eaten. Geralt joins him with his own fried egg sandwich, and they eat in silence for several minutes, though it isn’t heavy like the silences at home. Geralt puts down his sandwich first. 

“So, how are you liking things? I know it’s a little much, but-”   
“Are you kidding me?” Jaskier spits fried egg in his incredulity, and Geralt raises his eyebrows.   
“Sorry?” He wipes up the egg, eyes on Jaskier.   
“I’m sorry, it’s just,” Jaskier swallows his mouthful, “This is the best place I’ve ever been in my life. I’m kind of worried you’re going to kick me out.” He laughs. Geralt doesn’t. In fact, Geralt’s stomach twists. He looks at the vibrant kid in front of him, full of life and love and creativity, and is struck by the notion that he could very happily dispose of anyone who made Jaskier feel unwanted. Instead, he picks a bit of melted cheese off the outside of the muffin, and smiles.

“Well then. I certainly don’t want to kick you out. That being said, I think now’s as good a time as any to run through a few things:

“First of all, as I’ve said, this is your home. I heard you having a look around. No, it’s fine, but in my study, I’m sure you saw the filing cabinets. Confidential information. I ask that you don’t try and pry into them.    
“Second, my meetings. I really don’t mind showing you off, baby. Nothing you can hear that’s gonna put you in any danger, I promise you that.    
“Third, you’re going to keep calling me Daddy, it’s really completely adorable. You’re gonna sleep in my bed. You’re mine now, babe, and I want you to be happy here, but I also want you to do what I ask. Anything you really can’t do, well, we can discuss that later.   
“And lastly, anything you need, anything you  _ want _ , you come ask me. Tomorrow we’re going to get you a new wardrobe, ‘cause what you have isn’t really enough. I’m also going to get you a phone so you can call me whenever you need. I don’t want you to think about these things anymore, alright, baby? I’m here to take care of you, and I don’t intend on letting you go without. Does that all make sense to you?” Geralt takes a bite from his sandwich. 

Jaskier blinks at him. It can’t be real. Jaskier nods, sniffs, and then tears start to roll down his face.   
“Oh, fuck.” Geralt moves to his side of the table and holds his shoulders, desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong. When Jaskier doesn’t push him away, he pulls him close against his chest, not even thinking of the tear stains he’s going to have to get removed. “I know, baby, I know it’s a lot, I just wanted to make sure we were clear, oh, come on, it’s okay.”

Jaskier sniffs and shakes his head, rubbing more tears across his suit. “Y-you’re be-e-eing so nice to me-e-e.” He manages, and goes back to sobbing into Geralt’s chest. 

Geralt has officially changed his mind. He is going to destroy whoever did this to his baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your guess for my update schedule is as good as mine. Thank the fishie.


	4. Su misura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favourite boys go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter and I don't have an excuse.

The next morning brings with it warm sun and the sound of birds one can only get this far from the city. 

Jaskier stirs, and looks over at his daddy. Geralt, who’s sitting up and typing away on his phone, glances down at him and smiles.   
“Morning, sunshine.” He says lightly, and Jaskier checks the clock on the nightstand. It’s only eleven fifteen. The sarcasm isn’t necessary. Jaskier stretches like a spoiled cat and shifts up, tucking himself under Geralt’s arm.   
“Well, why are you still in bed?” He teases.   
“Because I’ve already been up, had breakfast, had two phone calls, gotten your results, and come back.” Geralt smirks. 

Jaskier pouts. “Well, it’s not my fault your bed is so comfortable.”  _ And that I was exhausted after crying for so long _ , he thinks, but doesn’t say. Geralt looks at him like he knows anyway.    
“Go have a shower. I washed your clothes as best I could, but I think it’s best we just replace them, hey?” 

The reminder of the day's itinerary makes Jaskier’s heart flutter. Geralt is going to buy him a new wardrobe. Geralt is going to buy him a  _ phone _ . He’s never had a phone. He hums, kisses Geralt’s sizable chest, and rolls out of bed to the bathroom.

Though Jaskier still prefers the bath, the shower is wonderful too. He uses Geralt’s things, and they smell heady and masculine. It’s comforting, even if it feels out of place on him. 

He examines himself in the mirror carefully. His lip is healed all the way, and his eye is no longer swollen, just an ugly yellow under his eyebrow. He’s looked much worse. 

Satisfied, Jaskier pulls on clothes and bounces out to the bedroom. Geralt is waiting, fulling dressed, and  _ fucking hell _ , how does one make a grey sweater and jeans look so  _ stylish _ ? 

“Well?”   
“Well what?”   
“Don’t you want to know your results?” 

Jaskier’s heart drops. The tests. Of course. For a vile second he thinks of all the things he could possibly have, how Geralt will throw him to the street in disgust and replace him. After a brief hesitation,, he nods,   
“You’re clean.”

Jaskier collapses onto the bed with a grateful sigh. “Oh, thank god. Oh, I was worried, I mean, there’s so many things that don’t have symptoms, you know, and-” He’s babbling in his relief until Geralt catches his hand with raised eyebrows. 

“I know, baby. It’s alright. Come on, let’s go. I’ll get you a coffee on the way, huh? You like Starbucks?” 

Jaskier has never had Starbucks. When the choice is between two sandwiches or a seven pound coffee it’s a no brainer. He likes walking past, though. It always smells a little chocolatey, and people come out with mountains of whipped cream covered in sprinkles, women in big sunglasses and yoga pants, men in suits. It all looks so glamorous. 

The cup in his hand features the word ‘yaskere’ in black marker and the sticker says it’s called a ‘s’mores Frappuccino’. Jaskier takes a sip and outwardly moans, much to Geralt’s amusement. The boy has a definite sweet tooth. The man makes a mental note to add more biscuits to the shopping list. Satisfied, their next stop is the Apple store, and Jaskier happily sucks on his drink while Geralt discusses specifications with a tall man with glasses, that Jask is pretty sure just served them at Starbucks. He finds a demo phone, and taps idly at a preloaded game, until Geralt finds him again with a bag too big for a phone. Jaskier doesn’t ask, he probably wouldn’t understand anyway. 

The warm hand on the back of his neck guides him out of the expanse of white and glass, and through the centre. For the first time in quite a while, Jaskier doesn’t feel like he has no right to be here. Geralt cuts a figure that could march up to a bank and demand vault access and receive it, with a ‘yes sir, right away, sir, any tea or coffee while you browse, sir?’ It’s very comforting. He’s steered into a small shop that smells like sandalwood, and the beautiful man behind the counter ignores Jaskier in favour of Geralt. Of course, Geralt is obviously the wallet in this relationship. 

“We have an appointment.” 

“Your name, sir?” It brushes Jaskier the wrong way, the way the man behind the counter is eyeing up Geralt, and he leans protectively inwards. 

Geralt smiles, and tells the boy behind the counter the name, and the boy inhales in surprise. 

“Yes sir.” He rushes to the back of the shop, and Geralt strokes Jaskier’s arm. 

“You okay?” 

Jaskier hums. “Fine. Just don’t like him.” 

Geralt laughs and bends to kiss Jaskier’s hair gently, apparently aware of exactly what he means. 

They’re interrupted by a man significantly older than the cashier clasping Geralt’s offered hand with a laugh and speaking to them with a thick Italian accent. 

“Signor de Rivia, a pleasure. Another navy? It suits you well.” He asks with a teasing grin, and Geralt smiles and nudges Jaskier forward. 

“We’re here for a measurement today, my good man. Will you take good care of Jaskier, I’ll be back to collect him in an hour.” Jaskier glances up, worried, but Geralt’s eyes reassure him, and he steps forward, chin up. The tailor laughs. 

“Of course, we will take care of him. Come, boy.” Jaskier steps forward, still clutching his drink in his hands like a safety blanket, and Geralt vanishes from behind him. 

The shop is much deeper than it appears from the front, and the man leads Jaskier to the very back of the store, where it smells less like sandalwood and more like fabric, clean if a little stale. The tailor bows respectfully and Jaskier flushes. No one has ever treated him respectfully in his life. He steps inside and allows the man to take his almost empty cup, setting it on the desk. 

“Undress, please. To your underwear.” The man nods at him, and Jaskier slowly strips. He feels more self conscious than he would naked, his underwear ratty and full of holes in inconvenient places. Still, he squares his jaw and steps onto the dais, and holds his shoulders back while the tailor sorts himself. 

“You have a good figure. Good jaw.” The tailor comments, and Jaskier smiles. Even if his trim waist comes from hunger rather than any conscious act, it feels nice to know that there’s at least two people on earth that find him attractive. 

The man vanishes from his sight, but Jaskier feels steady hands at his shoulders, his waist, across the curve of his arse, and down each leg, interrupted by the scratching of pencil on paper and muttering in Italian. 

Once he gets settled, it’s not so bad. The gentle muttering is sort of comforting, and the man is careful and professional. When the tailor steps away, behind the desk, and starts rifling through boxes underneath, Jaskier steps down and picks up the last creamy dregs of his coffee. The man glances up.

“You can dress.” He says, and Jaskier obeys with a soft flush. It’s somehow even worse to pull back on his ratty tshirt now, but the tailor doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t care. 

“Thank you, sir.” Jaskier offers softly, and the tailor smiles. 

“He is a good man, Signor de Rivia. He will look after you.” The tailor gives a knowing chuckle and Jaskier flushes. 

In the front of the shop, Geralt is examining ties. The handsome cashier is very close to him, describing the weave of a bright yellow one printed with flowers. Jaskier bristles and fits himself under Geralt’s arm with a huff that makes the cashier step back. Geralt smiles and squeezes his shoulder, and Jaskier notices the bags up his arm, with names he’s heard of but only passingly, Hilfiger, TopShop, Boss. He glances up at Geralt, who inclines his head to the tailor in turn. 

“Thank you, Signor Conti. I’ll be in touch.” He says smoothly, and steers Jaskier back out of the store. “Now, I think that’s everything. Is there anything else you wanted?” 

Jaskier bites his lip and shakes his head. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know. I wanted to.” He smiles and cocks his head. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tags to be updated as more is introduced, so far I've only tagged things that I know will be included. Kudos will be gently kissed, comments will be framed and rubbed on like, a little weirdly.


End file.
